Three Weddings and a Much-Exaggerated Funeral
by theactualabefroman
Summary: Bilbo is long suspected dead, a casualty of war and victim of the curse of Durin's line. When news comes to Erebor from the Shire, though, hopes begin to rise amongst the entire company. Fem!Bilbo, big chances of Thilbo later on.
1. Chapter 1

_Thorin paused, slowly turning back to Bilbo. She raised her hands and took a step towards the King Under the Mountain, wordlessly begging him to understand. "Thorin…" she began, before she was interrupted by the sharp sound of a sword being unsheathed. With a hoarse cry, he had her pinned against the side of the mountain, Orcist at her throat._

_"Tell me," he growled. "Tell me these are lies."_  
_Bilbo gasped, struggling to get an answer out. "Please," she choked out. "Just let me…"_  
_But the great king wouldn't let the hobbit continue. With his hand at her throat, he lowered the Goblin Cleaver, and with it, thrust it into her soft belly. She looked down, a cry of pain on her lips. She looked back up at him, tears forming in her eyes. He looked down at his handiwork, and as he saw the darkening stain, he dropped his sword. The madness in his eyes, his thoughts, was gone. He felt as if there was a sword in his own stomach. He wished there was, anything but this. By his own hand. Bilbo had slid down the wall, holding the sword in place._

_"Oh Aule, what have I… Bilbo, I…" he dropped down to her level, hands cupping her face. He didn't deserve to touch her, not after what he had just done, over that thrice damned rock, but he was ultimately a selfish dwarf. He desperately tried to wipe her cheeks clean, until a cough of red came from Bilbo, splashing across his shirt._

_Her cries of pain quieted. She met his eyes, starting to laugh madly._

_"Oh, yes. The great Thror, come again! The true king under the mountain!" She laughed, mockingly. "Bow down, bow down, for the mad king!" She pushed him back, sending him off balance. He looked down at the hand that had come down to catch his fall. His fingers, once so familiar, were gone, replaced by wizened and old imposters. On one of his fingers, he noticed his grandfather's ring, the sign of Durin set in mithril._  
_Against his will, those hands came up around Bilbo's still laughing, dying form. They reached to her dear throat, and began to squeeze, her laughs turning to bloody coughs. His thumbs started to press into the center of the hobbit's throat, harder, and harder, until-_

Thorin woke, crying out. He reached for the spot besides him, searching for the one person who most belonged there, but never would be again. His left hand grabbed at the furs surrounding him, remembering, despite his best efforts, despite him telling himself to just go back to bed and be dead to his guilt for a few more hours. He remembered the smell of her hair, the curve of her soft body against his stone one, remembered the feel of her small throat in his hand…

He slowly forced himself to release his bedding, and stood up out of bed. He walked over to the dresser, and pulled out one od the drawers. He reached towards the back, lifting robes and shirts out of the way until he found what he was looking for.

A little red coat, torn and threadbare, missing its little brass buttons in their entirety. It was a strange material to the dwarves, but he had seen plenty of others wear it in her homeland. He brought the coat up to his nose, inhaling the smell of sunshine, the smell of growing things, and the soap that she had spent far too much on in Lake Town. All these smells, so different from the smells of the Kingdom under the Mountain.

Reluctantly, he placed the jacket back in its resting spot. He walked over to the mantle, ignoring his bed. Lighting his pipe, he stared into the embers left in the fireplace, and began to sing, telling the tale of a love long gone, and the man who was left to live on for his own punishment.


	2. Chapter 2

"Bilbo Baggins!" Came a shriek from down the hill.

The aforementioned (shrieked) hobbit's eyes sprung open, before quickly grabbing a pillow to cover her eyes from the mid-morning light streaming in from her window.

"Bother that Lobelia," Bilbo growled into her pillow. Throwing her quilt from her, she reached for her robe, knowing the impropriety of her dress at that time of morning would bother her cousin-to-be. As she was tying a knot around her, there came a pounding at her round, yellow door.

"Bilbo!" Came the shriek again. "Bilbo!"

She waited patiently at her door until the pounding had ceased, and she could only tell the banshee outside her doorstep was still there due to the increasingly loud whistle-like huffing noises the younger hobbit's nose was making (not unlike the sound her kettle made at breakfast, elevensies, tea(s), and before bed). When it sounded like she might boil over again and return to her screaming, Bilbo flung the door open cheerfully.

"Lobelia!" she said, ushering her inside. "My dear, you mustn't be afraid to knock a bit louder, I could hardly hear you! After that last _battle, _you know, the one from a few years back, I'm afraid I've gone rather deaf in this ear." She gestured to her right ear. It wasn't a lie, she had lost a bit of hearing after being struck in the head by a rock on the battlefield, but she only mentioned it because she knew how much the very idea of a relative being improper (even only a relative by marriage) annoyed the Bracegirdles.

Lobelia opened her mouth to snap a reply, her face going red, before Bilbo thrust an old, not at all presentable to guests and therefore perfect for this situation, into her hands. "Have a cup of tea." She turned to set her kettle on.

"Don't you play coy with me, Bilbo." She seethed. "You know perfectly well that you haven't yet RSVP'd to your cousin and I's wedding next month.

Looking at her calendar, Bilbo acted shocked. "Dear me, is it truly coming up so soon?" She ran her finger along the dates before stopping at a few days prior. "No, no, I'm quite sure this was the day. 'Sent back invitation to L.'" She turned back to her kettle, pouring herself a cuppa, and filling Lobelia's mug.

"I'm sure I have no idea how it could have gotten lost _again_, really, we must speak to Rosco. This is, what, the third invitation lost through the post?" She sat down in her own armchair, smiling to herself from behind a sip of tea.

The letter in question had in fact gone missing yesterday morning, if one considered 'gone missing' as 'used as kindling for breakfast's fire'.

The future Mrs. Baggins sat fuming, her tea untouched. "The fourth. Really, Bilbo, you haven't been the same since your little..._holiday_. You haven't even offered me a thing to eat, and it's just hit elevensies! What would your poor father think of these manners?"

"Ah, yes! Please forgive me, I don't know where my mind could be this morning, I do believe I have some lemon cake, fresh baked, around here..." Bilbo stood up, going to her table, and delicately placed a slice of lemon cake she had made more than a week ago. It was just reaching the perfect stage of staleness where no one would blame her for being rude, but would hopefully be unpleasant enough to ward off any other unexpected visits from distant relations. She tried to keep a few slices of such things around, hobbits she hardly knew always seemed to pop up, snooping around for a few of 'mad Baggins'' treasure.

She pushed the 'treat' into Lobelia's hands, grabbing her own poppy seed cake, which she actually _had_ just made. "I do apologize, for the invitation, the first one was sent in November, wasn't it?"

"September" came the muffled reply. Lobelia was fighting her own battle against the stale cake, struggling to get a bite that couldn't be pleasant down.

Bilbo paused, frowning as she bit into her own cake. She actually hadn't received one before November...had she? She was quite sure the first had been four months back.

"At any rate, I decided to take the liberty to hand deliver this one to you." Lobelia handed Bilbo a thick envelope, written in a horrible mauve colored ink. Bilbo gave a discreet sniff. Lobelia had even, apparently, sprayed the invitation with her perfume she had had delivered from Bree that she insisted smelled lovely, but to most others smelled rather like turned turnips.

_To: Dear Guest_

_You are cordially invited to the marriage of_

_L. Bracegirdle and B. Baggins on April the 6th, 2895_

She grimaced, wondering how her cousin Bingo could marry such a hobbit.

Bilbo sighed, trapped between Lobelia's stubbornness and her father's teachings of polite manners in the worst of company. Even after the adventure she had gone on, and the Took side of her heritage raising its head, she was still A Baggins. She slid the envelope open, and reached for a quill. Quite reluctantly, she checked the box 'will be attending', ignoring the additional 'with a plus one' box underneath.

Lobelia grabbed the card back with what could only be described as a smirk.

"And with that, I really must excuse myself. I have a great many of errands to do, and the day awaits." She near pushed her 'guest' out of her chair and to the door.

"I really look...forward to your presence, of course. If you are wondering about a gift, I know your cousin has always admired that west farthing silverware of yours..." Lobelia hinted, lying through her teeth. Everyone on this side of the Brandywine knew that Lobelia had an eye (and quick fingers) for the Baggins' silverware.

"Quite right," Bilbo said firmly. "I will have to keep that in mind. Have a pleasant day, Lobelia."

She slammed the door firmly behind her, sighing. This day had had such promise. And now she had April to look forward to. She really did hate weddings. They reminded her of _him, _and she hated thinking of him.

_Back in September_

"Rosco, old fellow!" Came a booming voice, nearly causing the old hobbit to jump out of his hairy feet. He turned up, looking as an old man in a blue hat looked down on him.

"Do let me take that for you, that hill is quite steep, and I was on my way to visit Ms. Baggins anyways." Before Rosco could even open his mouth to argue, not that he would of course, arguing with a wizard topped his list of 'unpleasant things', Gandalf had grasped the stack of letters from his hand. On the top was an invitation written in mauve.

If Rosco's eyes had been a bit better, he would have seen the wizard slip said invitation in his sleeve before knocking at Bag End, and handing the rest of the letters to Ms. Bilbo. And none of the hobbits in Hobbiton could possibly know that Gandalf was on his way to the Kingdom Under the Mountain, with that very invitation still in his possession.

_Authors Note: Thank you guys so much for your nice comments! Keep them coming, please!_


	3. Chapter 3

_December, 2894_

Bofur sat whittling a whistle in the shape of a bird. He whittled quite a lot, most days, things he thought his brother's children would like, or perhaps the dwarrowdam he had seen quite a lot of down in Dale would appreciate it. He supposed it was healthy, moving on after all this time. For a long time, the only one he had eyes for their little burglar. Even after she had made her choice, he couldn't help but moon over her just a bit.

He paused, the small toy drooping down into his lap. He could have sworn he had heard a knock, but it was late, wasn't it? He had been down in the mines so long, day and night had begun to blur, but he had been back long enough to get the basic bits of time down; early, not so early, lunchtime, dinnertime, late, and _very_ late, or very _early_, depending on how one looked at it.

But dinnertime had been ages ago. He remembered, because he and his brother's daughter had spent the meal sneaking the horrible green things Bombur had tried to sneak in underneath the chips they had had.

Setting the bird down, he slowly made his way to the door. Opening it, he peered into the corridor. The torched had been dimmed, and he could see no light coming from under his neighbors' doors. As he began to close his door again, certain he had been hearing things, maybe a ghost of his past, he saw a thick, brown envelope caught on the corner of his door. He bent down, curious. He had no family outside of his brother and cousin, no one to send or receive a letter from who didn't simply live in the mountain. Unless, perhaps, a note from Dwia down in Dale? Eagerly he reached down to tear open what he was sure would be a love note-

And instead froze. There, written in purple, was a name he was positive he would not see ever again.

_To: Dear Guest_

_You are cordially invited to the marriage of _

_L. Bracegirdle and B. Baggins on April the 6th, 2895 _

Bofur felt his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach. B. Baggins. Could it truly be that the lass had survived? His heart flew straight up past its previous position. Bilbo was alive! "Ha, ha! That's my girl!" There had never been a body, but nor did they ever hear word from her. They had all mourned (except perhaps one, he thought, still with more than a hint of bitterness), some more openly than others, Ori had been inconsolable for weeks, even Dwalin had been caught more than once with a hitch in his voice when they talked of her (always in hushed tones, far from their king's ears).

But was it some sort of joke? His elation dropped faster than a mine shaft elevator with a broken rope. Surely Bilbo wouldn't send an invitation to her _wedding_ of all things, to tell the company she lived? No matter how queer her sense of humor had been to the dwarves, this was just cruel. Not their burglar, she was incapable of this sort of thoughtlessness.

But the proof was in the pudding. She may not have sent it, or maybe she did, but the important thing was that she was alive. Not invisible, lying out in the remains of the battlefield, forever, never to be at rest, in this world or the next, like his nightmares had whispered to him.

"Bifur!" He shouted, then clamped a hand over his own mouth. This couldn't get out. Not yet, not until more was uncovered. "Bifur!" He whispered loudly. He ran down the hall, knocking in a series of rapid, short taps. Hearing his cousin getting up, he turned to face his brother's home a few doors down. "Bombur!" He regretted waking up his brother's young ones, but this was possibly the most important news they had received in nearly five years.

* * *

Bofur waited impatiently as Bombur finished reading the invitation, the brothers back in Bofur's room while Bifur was already packing in his, grunting happily in Khuzdul. He might be fast when either dinner or his life (in that order) were in danger, but he took his time in nearly all other aspects of his life. His wife must be one happy dwarrowdam.

"Well?" He asked when Bombur flipped the card over, checking the backside.

"Well, it certainly seems that there is, indeed, a certain 'B' Baggins who is to be wed." Replied his brother.

"And? What are we waiting for, let's go." Bofur said, nearly whining like a child. "We can get the ponies from Dale. If we hurry, we can get there before April, before she marries this…'L' fellow."

"What makes you think she wants us there, brother?" Bombur asked, infuriatingly calm. "There may be a reason she hasn't contacted us in five years."

"That's a very good point, we can ask here that when we get there." Answered Bofur, busy packing his flute into his pack.

"Bofur." Bombur placed a large hand on the older dwarf's shoulder. "Perhaps she hasn't told us she's alive because she doesn't want us to know."

"And why would she want to do a stupid thing like that?" He snapped.

"Perhaps…" Bombur gulped, voice breaking slightly, betraying his calm demeanor. "Perhaps she hasn't forgiven us."

Bofur halted at that. "That's ridiculous. It wasn't us who…We never…" He struggled to get the words out, realizing as he said them, that none of them felt quite honest. "It was him that did it." He said, finally.

"We weren't much better. Kili was the only one who showed the slightest bit of backbone to Thorin. But we were just as angry with her." He shook his head sadly, beard swaying with the motion. "I reckon she _wanted_ to be rid of us."

Bofur paused in his packing, staring at nothing. He was right. He could curse the bastard, their king, it truly came back to the entire company. None of them saw past the gold, the dratted treasure, and especially that thrice damned rock, to see reason. She had every reason to curse their names and spit on their memories (not that she would of course, Bilbo had never been so crude).

"But she sent this, Bombur. It…It can't have been an accident, us getting this card." Bofur was pleading, with himself or Bombur, he didn't know. "We hafta see for ourselves."

Bombur sighed. "I am with you, brother. As always." He walked towards the door, then paused, turning back. "We'll have to tell the rest of them, you know."

Bofur gave a low chuckle with no mirth in it. "We'll tell some of them, at least."

"He will find out."

"Not from us, he won't. He doesn't need to be anywhere near her again."


	4. Chapter 4

A sharp whistle pierced the library's silence. "Ori!" The librarian started, dropping the books he had been shelving. "Shhh!" He whispered, a finger pressed against his lips fiercely. "This is a library, not a coal mine!" He picked up the books that had fallen in a haphazard pile, wincing as he carefully unfolded some of the creased pages. There was a moment of silence, and then several books from a nearby shelf flew out of place. "Ori!" Bofur whispered, sticking his head through the now-vacated bit of shelving, his hat knocking a few more books off the shelf. "Bofur!" The normally mild mannered dwarf grabbed the other's head, shoving it back through the shelves, then walked around to talk face to face. "You had better have a good reason for destroying my library." Bofur grinned. "The best." _ "Bahih gugûn Armukhakkar!" Shouted Bifur, looking around desperately to once again make sure they were alone. "What's that lad? Speak up!" Shouted Óin in return, holding up his ear trumpet. "Blasted thing doesn't work nearly as well after Gloin's boy stuffed that chicken in last month!" "Melekinh!" Dayum! Nalim 'Bag End'!" Both dwarves had sent themselves in such states, shouting back and forth, that neither noticed another dwarf approaching. "Here now!" Came a slightly uppity voice. The two turned to face the oldest of the Brothers Ri. "There's no need for all this shouting, we can hear you all the way down in the tea- what's this about the hobbit?" Later that evening Eight of their members huddled around Bombur's table, doors locked and lights low. The children had been put to bed while the dam of the house sat, presumably knitting, while in reality watching the front door quite unwanted visitors. "We can't tell Balin or his brother." Argued Bofur. "No one can doubt anyone dwarf in this room of being anything but stupidly loyal to our king, but they're on a whole different level. They'll tell him, and he'll either try to put an end to it, or go down there himself and put an end to whatever poor soul dared try to marry Bilbo." "But isn't that what we're trying to do?" Ori asked. "Not at all. We're just paying our respects to our dear friend, and making sure this 'L.' fellow is worthy of her. Not that he likely will be, what sort of ridiculous name is Bracegirdle? Sounds more like something you'd wear." Glóin replied. "And if he's not, then we'll put an end to hi- It. The wedding." "So we ruin her life again, is that is?" Nori said sarcastically. "She doesn't want us there, can't we leave the poor girl alone?" "She invited us." Dori pointed to the letter. "We should bring her a nice gift, perhaps some of the tea leaves I just bought, all the way from Rohan." "And her share of the treasure!" Ori added. "She didn't get any of what was due her." "That's the odd bit, though, isn't it? Why did she invite us? After five years, she lets us know she's alive by way of a marriage announcement?" "We won't know until we ask her, will we lads? We need to leave now." Bofur said. "The question is, 'Do we tell the others before we go?'" "I don't feel right about not telling the princes." Glóin said, banging a fist down. "Nor Dwalin and Balin. They were members of the company, same as any of us." "They'll tell Thorin, though. Kíli, maybe, we can trust, but he'll tell Fíli, and we can't risk him talking to Thorin." Bofur said, standing up. Glóin stood up to meet his gaze. "Maybe he deserves to be told! She was his, after all, and he was her's. He has more right than any of us here to know she's alive, let alone someone else's intended!" "More right? He nearly through her from that wall! Over a rock! After everything she had done for us! For him! Or did you forget about that?" The dwarf, so seldom seen without a smile, was at the angriest most had seen him "He has no right, none!" "You were always jealous of him! You wanted it to be yourself she had feelings for!" "She made her choice and I accepted it! He was the one who took away her choices, banishing her because of his own madness! He would have killed her if Gandalf hadn't been there below us!" "Well, you weren't stopping him!" Yelled Óin, joining the fight. "None of us did a thing! We should leave the poor lass alone, let her live her life out peaceful like!" "Enough!" Shouted Bombur, speaking up at last. "I feel we have no right to keep this from any dwarf in The Company. We all have connections to our Burglar." He held up a hand to stop Bofur, who opened his mouth to respond. "However. We will vote on the remaining members. None of us are true leaders, and as such, none of us will decide solely on this decision. "All those who vote to tell Kíli and Fíli." Nearly all the hands went up, only Nori and Bofur keeping their hands down, Bofur's firmly so. "And Dwalin and Balin?" This time, four hands stayed down. Bombur inhaled deeply. "And our King?" Bombur's and Glóin's hands stayed up, while the others looked at each other uncomfortably, some of them fidgeting with whatever they held. He sighed. "Very well. We will tell the young princes, and no one else." He stood, dimming the lights. "We leave in two days." 


End file.
